


Direction

by DracoMaleficium



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hitchhiking, Pre-Slash, References to Abuse, References to Illness, Zuko Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoMaleficium/pseuds/DracoMaleficium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zuko doesn't know where he's going in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Direction

**Author's Note:**

> My first fill for the [Summer Jeeko Exchange](http://princebender.tumblr.com/post/121837086517/jeeko-summer-exchange-2015-prompting-is-now-open), prompt: "hitchhiker Zuko." There isn't much actual Jeeko, but I hope the lovely anon prompter will like it anyway. Warnings for references to past abuse, sexual harassment and illness, and general doom and gloom.

The road stretches far ahead. In the annoying thin-ass drizzle that just won't stop peppering Zuko in the face all day long and now apparently all night too, he can only see just how far ahead it grabs whenever twin roadlight beams stripe it from one side or the other. 

There aren't a lot of those around here, and none of them stop. Zuko keeps walking.

He puts his hand up when another engine sends the air vibrating, but doesn't hope for much of anything. Water sloshes in his worn designer trainers, making them squeak with each step, and his clothes are so waterlogged they weigh almost as much as his backpack, and he wants nothing more than to sit down and maybe fall asleep and never wake up. 

He keeps walking and waits for the approaching vehicle – a transit truck, judging by the heavyset growl – to pass him by, just like all the others did. His scar scares them, or maybe his expression does, or maybe it's both combined with the night and the fact that he's alone. Whatever. He doesn't need their mercy. Not theirs, not anyone's. 

He keeps walking.

The truck passes him because of course it does. At least it goes around him in a wide arch and doesn't splash Zuko like some of the others did. He lets his arm fall and drops his eyes to the road, nevermind that he can hardly see it anymore, and pointlessly wipes rainwater from his face. If he doesn't find a gas station within the next hour or so, he's gonna try and find some bushes to sleep in and maybe the drizzle will finally let up so he can dry – 

The truck slows down and eventually rolls into a standstill about a foot away from him.

Zuko stops too and watches it for a few seconds, but apparently it's not going to start moving again. He wipes his face again and jogs up to the driver. The window rolls down – manual, wow, the truck must be ancient – and a wary, tired face of a vaguely Asian man in his 40's turns to him expectantly. 

“You coming in or what?” the driver snaps, looking thoroughly unimpressed with Zuko and a little perplexed at himself for having stopped in the first place. “I'm on the clock.”

“How far can you take me?” Zuko asks, pretending he hasn't been walking for days and that his socks aren't completely soaked through. 

“Kid, we can work out the finer details when you're done dripping. Get in and let's not waste anymore fuel.”

Zuko nods. The man looks a little rough and intimidating, but the truck is dry and warm and has a _seat_ so he drops his backpack between his legs without too much thought and lets a long sigh slip out when the truck ambles back onto the road.

Fuck, but he's tired.

“Where are you headed?” asks the driver. His voice sounds like bars and cheap whisky, but it's gone softer now. Zuko closes his eyes, just for a minute, just to feel them burn.

“Away, mostly,” he says. 

The driver sits silent for a minute and lets the radio – classic rock channel – wail softly. 

“You running away, huh?” he asks eventually, and sounds even less happy with the world than he did when he first rolled down the window. “Will I get in trouble for this?”

“I don't see how,” Zuko murmurs. “Anyway, no one's looking for me.”

And isn't that the truth. Zuko looks ahead and tries not to rub the healing mess around his left eye. 

It still throbs.

“Whatever you say.” The man heaves a sigh and taps the steering wheel absent-mindedly, frowning at the road. “I'm making a delivery upstate. You can tag along and catch a coach over at Fowles.”

“Fine.” Zuko makes himself more comfortable and doesn't really care that he's dripping all over the upholstery, which doesn't look all that pristine in the first place. Anyway, the man says nothing about it so it's probably okay. 

Zuko leans his head against the side of the headrest and closes his eyes again. Just for a little bit. He's so tired, and his face feels warm now, and the drizzle beats against the panes and he shouldn't fall asleep because this guy could easily be a murderer or a pervert or some other kind of douchebag, but just closing his eyes is okay, he's okay, just for a minute. 

He's asleep within two.

 

*

 

There is a heavy hand shaking his shoulder and Zuko's first instinct is to cry out. 

“Easy there,” someone says, and it takes a blurry moment or two for Zuko to place the voice as one he has, in fact, heard before. The cheap whisky and bars guy. The transit truck. 

The fact that it's not his own bed back home, and the lights he sees are that of an offroad motel and not of the lighthouse he could see from his window.

Then he just wants to cry, period. He doesn't. Blinking helps and so does working his throat, and when he looks over at the man who's picked him up from the road, he's fairly sure his eyes won't get wet anymore. 

The man is looking at him with a strange kind of intensity and an unsettling sense of – knowing, like he can see straight through Zuko's act but keeps his conclusions to himself. He takes his big, warm hand off Zuko's shoulder and points to the motel.

“We'll be staying here for the night.”

Well, fuck. “I can sleep in the truck,” Zuko says. 

“Like hell you will. Get out, I'm not leaving you alone with my stuff.”

“If you think I want to steal this piece of junk –“

“One more word and I'm dumping your sorry ass back on the road,” the driver warns him. “No talking smack about my truck when she's the one getting you out of the rain.”

“I don't have the money for a room,” Zuko snaps at him, eyes getting hot again. 

Sure, he has his cards but fat load of good they are now that Father's most likely blocked all of his accounts. He's managed to withdraw as much cash as he could before getting out of town, but he knows he needs to save. He's not going to blow it all on a few nights of sleeping in beds. 

But the man is shaking his head and there's that knowing expression again, and it makes Zuko angry for no good reason at all. 

“I figured,” says the man. “I'm gonna pay for the room.”

Zuko shoots him a suspicious look. “Just like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that. I'm tired and I wanna get some shuteye and I'm not leaving you behind in my truck, so you're coming with me.”

Right. Right. Zuko eyes him up and down suspiciously as a whole new spike of fear sears through him, but he's got very little choice in the matter unless he's to bolt and get back on the road – in the rain, which is a proper downpour now. 

So it's a choice between another night of walking and sleeping in the bushes by the roadside, or sharing a motel room with a potential criminal. 

The guy gets out of the truck, opens the door for Zuko and looks at him expectantly.

Zuko listens to the rain for a moment before he grabs the backpack and follows him out into the reception room. 

He doesn't think he has another minute of walking in him, anyway, and the man is big but maybe Zuko can fight him off. 

He hasn't slept in a bed in days. 

 

*

 

The room wants to be very orange, the kind of manic cheerful shade that you sometimes get in Benjamin Moore TV ads, but doesn't quite manage it. The walls are faded and the paint flakes off, and there are fat stains and dead mosquito smears that go well with the vague smell of bacon in the air that must be wafting up from the kitchens.

It's a sad sight and works remarkably well as a metaphor for Zuko's life. Except for the bacon smell.

God, he's hungry.

Zuko's stomach takes to unhelpful grumbling as the driver, whom he dubs Sideburns in his mind, pushes the door closed, and then pushes again when it doesn't quite click as it should. Zuko tries not to look at him and chooses the bed closest to the door. He doesn't let go of the backpack. 

“Go take a shower, kid,” Sideburns tells him. “For all our sakes.”

And Zuko's first instinc is to bristle at that, but actually, a shower sounds heavenly. Zuko only takes a moment to hesitate before he grabs the backpack and hauls it with him to the bathroom, which – oh thank God – has a working lock.

It takes a while for the water to run first from brown to clear, then from cold to almost scalding, and the shower floor looks like it plays host to whole colonies of bacteria. Zuko couldn't care less. He's pretty sure he stands there under the spray, shivering and coughing, for at least an hour, and takes as long as he can just feeling warm for a change.

The bliss shatters when he hears a fist banging on the door and a voice demands, “Kid, my bladder's bursting out here,” but he takes some comfort in the knowledge that he doesn't stink anymore when he dresses in some clean clothes and finally braves the room beyond, dreading the worst.

It doesn't come. 

In fact, there's a delicious-smelling paper bag from Burger King on his bed and Sideburns throws him a quick “That's for you” before dashing into the bathroom with some urgency. 

Zuko stares at the bag for all of four seconds before he throws himself at it, his stomach growling like a ticked-off Doberman trying to protect its bone from being snatched away. Fuck, there's not one but _two_ plus-size cheeseburgers in there and a whole bag of fries to top it off, and Zuko gobbles the first burger up even before Sideburns makes it out of the bathroom. 

He tries to eat slowly after that, acting like he hasn't been basically starving for days, but he can feel the man's eyes on him like a pair of mosquitoes buzzing around his head, or worse, because at least actual mosquitoes can be swatted away. Eventually, when he eats the last of the fries and licks the salt off his fingers, he turns to face Sideburns – who's sprawling on the other bed – and decides subtlety can go fuck itself. Some things are better let out in the open. 

“What do you want in return?” he asks. 

Sideburns shrugs and crosses his arms behind his head, lying on top of the covers. “Don't talk shit about my car and we're good.”

That really doesn't clear anything up. Zuko doesn't believe in pure altruism anymore, not after drivers upon drivers only inviting him into their cars on the condition that he'll suck them off. 

Which, for the record, he hasn't done. He's not quite that desperate yet. 

So he glares at Sideburns with all the energy he can dredge up and tells him just that: “If you expect me to sleep with you that's not gonna happen.”

And sure, it gets the man's attention, though the reaction is nothing like what Zuko's been working himself up to. If anything, Sideburns looks appalled – _disgusted_ , Zuko's mind adds helpfully – and springs up to look at him with an expression he could easily wear if Zuko suggested they murder the girl at the reception desk. 

Oh. Well.

“Do I _look_ like a pervert to you?” Sideburns asks. He's clearly pissed off. Zuko shrugs and balls up the paper bag in his hands. 

Sideburns stares at him for a few more moments before grumbling something to himself, shaking his head and storming off to the shower. He reemerges a second later still looking like he's ready to sock someone in the face, grabs his travelling bag and goes back in. Zuko hears the shower running and finally, _finally_ breathes out.

It could still be just a show, but maybe it's safe to slip under the covers at least for a little while. His feet are getting chilly and he can feel more coughing scratching up his throat. His head hits the pillow – it smells surprisingly clean, as do the covers – and he curls up, closing his eyes. 

Still, he doesn't allow himself to fall asleep this time. He turns to the wall and fakes it when Sideburns eventually gets out of the bathroom, but he forces his mind to stay awake even through the sheer lulling _relief_ of being off his hurting feet and wrapped up dry and warm in a proper bed with food in his stomach, and he's ready to bolt right the fuck out at the first sudden noise.

The only noise he gets is snoring, and he doesn't know what to do with that. 

 

*

 

He does fall asleep, in the end. His mind is full of fire and his mom turning away from him and Azula whispering lies into his ear and his father holding his face in the fireplace. He gasps when Sideburns eventually shakes him awake, and can't look him in the eye after that. 

It's okay. Sideburns isn't quite looking at him either.

 

*

 

“So what do I call you?” Sideburns asks when they're back on the road, laboring on ahead into the murky grey day in the rickety old truck which jumps violently on potholes and makes whiny noises when Sideburns puts his foot down.

There's not much reason to lie. It's not like this guy would recognize him, anyway. Zuko hugs his backpack and whispers, “Zuko,” gazing out at the rolling fields to his right. 

“Okay,” Sideburns hums. “I'm Jee.”

 _Whatever_ , Zuko wants to say. Doesn't. He's getting hungry again and maybe Sideburns – Jee – would be up for grabbing some lunch soon. 

 

*

 

They stop at Wendy's in the second town they pass and Jee lets Zuko choose whatever he likes. He sounds a bit awkward saying it, like he doesn't quite know how to talk to him. Zuko doesn't want to think about that so he tries to ignore it and they eat their lunch in near total silence, which is absolutely fine. 

It's not like they'll see each other ever again after tomorrow anyway.

 

*

 

Jee has tattoos. Zuko discovers that later that day when Jee shrugs off his jacket and sits there in a black tank top, his arms on display. They are rather nice arms, to the point of being distracting, and Zuko catches himself glancing over every few minutes because, well, frankly he _needs_ distracting. 

“Who's Big Betty?” he asks quietly when he can no longer stop himself. 

“Huh?” Jee asks distractedly, and then snorts. “Oh, that?” He gives his forearm a brief fond glance before looking back to the road. “She's one of the ships I served on. We all got tats over in Amsterdam one night and I barely remember it. Take my advice, kid, and don't go to Amsterdam.”

“Been there,” Zuko blurts before he can bite his own tongue. Jee shoots him a surprised look and he scrambles for something to change the subject again. “You're military then?”

“Ex Navy,” Jee says. “What the hell were you doing in Amsterdam?”

“It's not what you think,” Zuko sighs, slumping back against the seat. “I didn't go there for pot or anything.”

“I should hope not. You look like you're still in high school.”

“Graduated,” Zuko informs him tiredly. “What the hell are _you_ doing, being a delivery guy?”

“Because life sucks, kiddo. Seems you're learning that particular lesson already.”

Zuko snorts. “Yeah, no shit.”

Jee looks like he's about to say something more. Instead he chooses to turn the volume up on the radio and taps away to Aerosmith. 

Zuko lets his head drop against the headrest and roll to the side, and closes his eyes. With any luck he'll be spared any more awkwardness...

Or not. 

“So how long you been on the road?” Jee asks. 

“A while,” Zuko murmurs. This guy doesn't need to know any more. 

“And you going where?”

“Florida,” Zuko says, ignoring the painful twist in his gut at the instant flame of doubt and worry and humiliation that burns him whenever he thinks of Uncle. He doesn't know where he's actually going. He has no idea if he has it in him to turn up at Uncle's doorstep and ask for help. He doesn't want Uncle to see him like this, or to explain anything, but there's nowhere else. Not if he doesn't want to spend the next however-many months out on the streets, and right now, he's not sure which option is the better one.

Jee whistles. “That's a long way.”

“I know.”

“Think you'll be able to catch a coach at Fowles all the way to Florida?”

“I don't know, but there'll be coaches going _somewhere_. I'm assuming some of them will be going the right way.”

“Right.” Jee sounds skeptical, but mercifully keeps his doubts to himself. “Got enough for a ticket?”

“Yeah, I think so. I'm trying to save what I have.” Zuko doesn't mind telling Jee that much at this point. Obviously the guy isn't out to rob him if he hasn't done it already.

“Okay,” Jee says, and stays silent for the next half hour or so.

Zuko's drifting away into a doze by the time he opens his mouth again to ask, “So where else in Europe have you been?”

“What's made you so chatty all of a sudden?” Zuko snaps, growing irritable. The night has been barely restful and he's still exhausted as all hell and making small talk couldn't be any lower on his list of priorities if he tried.

Jee doesn't seem bothered by Zuko's mood. His fingers keep tapping against the wheel and he says, “It's boring to drive all day with no one to talk to. The least you could do is make me not regret picking you up. Entertain me.”

And if last night hadn't happened, this would have put Zuko immediately on the defensive. But it seems Jee really isn't out to abuse him and is genuinely bored, and all things considered, Zuko is grateful. He tries to fish around in his brain for any stories from his family holidays in Europe that might “entertain” the guy, and manages all of two words before he chokes up and has to stop talking. 

He'll never visit Europe with his family again. He doesn't even have a family anymore. He's alone, and the memories taste like salt. 

Fuck.

Jee doesn't ask him for any more stories after that.

 

*

 

They spend the night in another smelly motel and this time, Zuko doesn't try to stay awake. 

 

*

 

The Fowles coach station looks about as inviting as a Keep Out sign. Zuko tries to act like he's not freaking out when he gets out of the truck and slams the door closed behind him, feeling Jee's eyes on the back of his head perhaps a bit too keenly. 

“You sure about this, kid?”

 _No_. “Yeah.”

“Here.” Jee taps him on the shoulder through the open window and sticks out his hand with a twenty dollar bill, but Zuko shakes his head, biting on the inside on his cheek hard to keep himself still. 

“You've done enough for me.”

“Zuko, just take it,” Jee insists. “We both know you need it.”

“No.” Zuko takes a step back from the truck, not trusting himself. “Thanks for everything. Goodbye.”

He sprints away towards the ticket office, trying not to look back and wondering why it's so hard. 

He only allows himself to glance over his shoulder when the sound of Jee's engine eventually dies away in the distance. 

 

*

 

He's still sitting at the same station, hugging his knees and shivering on the bench, two days later when he sees the truck rolling back into view. 

He's too tired to move and hide. He buries his face in his arms and waits.

“Hey,” Jee's voice says, gentle and quiet, and Zuko can hear the engine dying. 

He doesn't look up. 

“I can't help but notice you're not halway to Florida,” Jee says. 

Zuko sits there without a word. It's impossible to explain any of this to Jee when he can't make sense of his own mind himself. He only knows that he can't go to Uncle, and he can't think of anywhere else to go to start over.

Maybe because he doesn't want to. Maybe because he still can't make himself believe that he _has_ to. Maybe because believing it will finally break him, and he can't let himself be broken.

Even if he already is.

Jee is silent for what feels like long, long minutes. Then Zuko hears the truck doors opening. 

“Wanna hop in?”

That's when Zuko gets the strength to finally look up and into his face. “Going where?” he asks, and coughs. 

“Home,” Jee says softly, “for as long as you need it.”

And Zuko doesn't know if he wants it, or if he can allow himself to. But it's a direction. That's more than he has right now, and maybe it's enough, if only for the moment.

He stands up and slowly gets into the truck.

Jee smiles. He looks relieved and worried all at once, and winces when Zuko's chest acts up with more coughing. “Right, so we're gonna find somewhere for you to rest and get warm,” he decides. “And take a shower. You hungry? You want something to eat first? We can get some food first. There's a McDonald's round the corner. I'll get you a Big Mac. Sound good?”

Zuko hums. He's already falling asleep when the engine starts up again.


End file.
